Council of the Moon
by Flok's Fiction
Summary: Thieves aren't the only ones who dwell in the dark. Tensions are higher than ever between the Kingdoms, and a mysterious group is sponsoring a series of attacks that have made relations worse. To prevent disaster, twelve unlikely individuals will need to reform an ancient council which has not met since the days of the Great War. (In-Universe, Epic) (Chapter 3!)
1. Chapter 1: Woes

**This story arose from some strange ideas I had. Not all of those work in hindsight. Oh well. Maybe I'm too hard on myself.**

* * *

Chapter 1: Woes

Ebon sat alone in the gloomy office. A ring of sweat dotted his brow, and his sweaty fingers gripped the mouse tightly. He refreshed the page one last time, but the glaring red numbers on the screen didn't budge. A small beep sounded: midnight. The digital calendars rolled over to a new month, and the ledgers became blank.

And that was the end of it. The servers had already recorded the month's sales, or lack thereof. The month of poor business couldn't have come at a worse time, either, with that ginger bastard bugging him about getting his money back. There was a reason most respectable businesses didn't deal with loan sharks like him, but the company had no choice. He had charged them twice the rate that the most avaricious bank would, and expected it back in a month, too. He even had the nerve to drop some none-too-subtle threats about what would happen if it _wasn't_ paid off.

Ebon pulled up his most recent email. Although addressed to him, the bastard thought it would be real funny to forward it to the entire company, to show how little control Ebon had over their situation. He still had no idea where the man had gotten their mailing list.

 _From: #33461ValeMail_

 _To: #EbonVFDMail_

 _CC: noreply-mailinglistVFDMail_

 _Subject: The Last Day_

 _Ebon,_

 _I have been so generous to you. More than generous. Exceedingly generous. Well, apparently it wasn't good enough. I'm sorry that my benevolence couldn't dig your company out of the shitter. It's not your fault, really, that the wheels of industry no longer turn in Vale. What a travesty. Oh, the papers will scream and shout about another local industry failing. Your employees will return home with their heads slumped and their wallets empty, cursing Atlas, the Vale council, and maybe even you. But at the end of the day, you'll be fine. All of you can seek new employment wherever and whenever you want, and VFD will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory._

 _I, on the other hand, will not be stumbling away with unpleasant memories. Rather, I'll be addressing the giant hole your idiocy has burnt in my pocket. You may not have the money to pay me, but you'd be a fool to think you can walk away having done nothing but take my money and beg for extensions. You've known this was coming. If you have some money of your own, squirreled away in Vacuo, perhaps, then maybe you can redeem yourself. Pay me. Today. If you don't…_

 _I've got some friends of mine willing to fill the blank._

 _Your friend and business partner,_

 _Roman Torchwick_

Ebon bit his lip. There was no way the creep would follow through on his threat. Mr. Torchwick fancied himself a mob boss, but he sure wasn't one. He was just a rich and egotistical joke. Lenders take losses, went the saying. A courtroom would be his first destination the next day, to trounce the little shit over his unfair and coercive loan. But the red lines on their balance sheet reminded him of the harsh reality. The man was right. The loan wasn't even their real problem, it was mounting debts and sales in a never-ending slump.

The correct thing to do would have been to file bankruptcy, not borrow money, but he was under so much pressure from the government and the Council not to. Vale was on the verge of ceding the industry to Atlas, like they already had for weaponry, cars, and most recently processed food. If the Vale Fine Dust Corporation collapsed, it would be the fourth of its kind to do so this year. Once the domestic wholesalers closed, shops would have no choice but to purchase imported dust from Atlas, at great expense. They would need to raise prices, which many citizens couldn't afford. Worse, it would leave the Kingdom helpless if Atlas ever turned against them.

And with times being what they were, that seemed more and more likely. Hostility between the Kingdoms was growing, and it was becoming increasingly unclear what their future relationship would be. Previously, the threat of Grimm was too severe for the Kingdoms to waste precious lives and materials squabbling with each other. Now, that all seemed to be changing. Atlas' new military technology should have been a resource that all benefited from, but it instead became a wedge that drove them apart. While the other Kingdoms each had their own technologies, as well as exclusive materials the others relied on, the technical disparity between them and Atlas was growing. A social divide was being created as well. Only their shared communication across the CCT system kept them connected.

Some people in Vale pointed at Atlas as the source of their problems and demanded an explanation. Dust-related sabotage and robbery had been at an all time high lately but were mysteriously absent in Atlas. In several stores, the robbers had spray-painted the Atlas insignia on the walls. Atlas claimed the lack of robberies was due to their better security, and the insignias were just crude attempts to frame them.

Supporters of Atlas's explanation were frequently demonized, but Ebon had to admit they were probably right. The scale was simply too small, and the evidence too muddy. Still, their answer didn't explain the uptick in crime, nor did it pacify civilians frustrated with Atlas's withholding of crucial defensive and industrial machines. Ebon turned off his computer, letting his worries fade away with the monitor's light. He started to nod off in his chair, the few minutes walk to his car seeming so far away. So much for Torchwick's 'surprise'. Then he heard the slight click of his office doorknob being turned, followed by the creak of the door.

Then he heard the slight click of his office doorknob being turned, followed by the creak of the door.

"What the hell?" Ebon yelled, flicking on a desk lamp. He yanked his chair out from under his desk and shoved his feet into his shoes. Then something pressed against his throat.

His eyes flicked down and froze. A razor-thin stiletto was being held against his neck. It was so close he was scared that a mere exhale would cause it to slice into his skin. His heart began to palpitate as the pressure on his trachea increased.

"Easy there," said a dry, heartless voice. "Em, make sure that she doesn't spill the poor man's guts everywhere. This is a nice carpet."

Ebon's scream was reduced to a gurgle as the stiletto severed his throat, silencing him. In desperation, he grabbed at the bloody hash that was his throat with his hands. It was no use. His vision swam and sunk to the floor. The last thing he saw was the cruel smile of a narrow, feminine face as it winked and turned away.

A few minutes later, three people were recorded exiting the Vale Fine Dust company headquarters. Their hands were tucked in their pockets. Dressed in grey and black sweatshirts and pants, they walked side by side in a straight line across the road. With their bodies turned away from the camera and their heads covered by hoods, they had no distinguishing features to speak of except for their builds, and even those were partially obscured by their bulky clothes.

In the middle of the road, one of them paused. They twisted around, their face still concealed by shadow, and gave the camera a slow, mocking wave. The two others pulled them away. Across the street was an unmarked black sedan. It was relatively new and nice-looking, but not enough that it attracted attention. The three assassins got into it, making no hurry to start it. The car drove away slowly, as if to mock the lack of pursuit, and vanished into the winding streets of Vale.

* * *

It was always raining by the docks. Sheets of water poured from the low-hanging clouds, sweeping puddles of filthy oil from the machine shops into the street. The ancient streetlamps were cracked and bent, and they emitted a sputtering glare as the water seeped around them.

The Sailor's Respite on West Hayes street wasn't a place you visited by choice. The grimy pub survived on location only, providing a place for exhausted dock workers to down a few cheap drinks and gossip before turning in for the night. At 1 o'clock in the morning, it was still bustling with activity. The street wasn't known for its nightlife, and its atmosphere was eerie, silent but for the rain beating on tin roofs. These traits gave the street a reputation as a meeting place for thieves, lowlifes, and worse. A reputation that, while exaggerated, was not completely unfounded. A black car turned onto it, and from there into a side alley.

A girl got out of the car and pulled up the hood of her jacket to cover her short, green hair. Her face was tight, her jaw clenched, her cheeks sucked in, and her eyes downcast. She was a thief, not a murderer. Not even an accessory to one. If she ever had to do a job like that again, she'd stay in the car—or better yet, not go at all. Even calling it a murder was a euphemism. It was a butchery.

"Something up, Em?" said Mercury. "I'm not used to seeing you so damn quiet."

"Can it, Merc," she said. "Let's just get this over with."

"Whatever," Mercury scoffed. His silver-grey hair was soaked and matted on his head. "Neo," he asked, "If you're not going to use your umbrella, mind if I borrow it? I'll even wash some of the blood off."

Neo, standing in the shadows of the building, smirked and tucked it away.

"It's a parasol, stupid," Emerald explained, tired of their bickering. "It's for sun, not rain."

He shrugged. "Why the hell does she carry it then? Vale gets plenty of rain this time of year."

Emerald didn't have an answer, and that meant it was the end of the matter. "Ask her yourself."

"Hah."

After the dark and drizzly street, the interior of The Sailor's Respite was warm and inviting, if a bit dilapidated. The three criminals welcomed the escape from the cold. The pub was divided into three sections, with a bar, a line of tables set against the wall, and a circle of booths up against the back. The songs, rousing cheers, and jokes of the pub's patrons had died down long ago. They sat hunched over their drinks, occasionally muttering to each other.

A tall, swarthy faunus stood behind the bar. His tail swished nervously from side to side. "You're the party of three?" he said. "There's a round of drinks ready for you, courtesy of the red-haired fella in the back. But _you_ look a little on the young side. A lot, actually." He gestured to Neo.

"Hey!" Emerald said. "Not all of us grew up to be regular giants, you know. She's just a little...vertically challenged, that's all."

A common opinion for people to have of Neo, who had long since stopped growing. In such a public place, she had to rely on Emerald's charm.

The bartender considered. It wasn't like he gave a shit about the law. But if the girl really was underage, the blame would be on him.

"Fine," he said at last, "I'll believe you. But one round only. Don't make me regret this." He slid their drinks across the counter.

Emerald normally avoided alcohol, but she accepted the glass anyway. It had been a hell of a night, and refusing it after lobbying on her friend's behalf would have looked strange. At least the beer was small and didn't have anything swimming in it. She had half-expected that in a place this dirty.

Torchwick was waiting for them in the back. The normally flamboyant man had taken some steps to be unobtrusive, swapping his usual white coat for a black one and tucking his fiery hair into his bowler.

"Mercury. Em. Dearest Neo," Torchwick said. "Please sit. Let's have a chat, shall we?"

Only Emerald sat down. "You're not paying me to take your bullshit, Roman," she said. "I'm here to collect."

"I second that," said Mercury.

Neo held up three fingers.

"Cute." Torchwick leaned on one elbow. "Not in the mood to talk?" he said, then lowered his voice. "Did you kill him or not?"

"We did," said Mercury, "And with the mess that little _psychopath_ —" he pointed at Neo "—left behind, expect plenty of talk tomorrow."

Neo smiled innocently.

"Good," Roman said. "The more publicity surrounding this, the more shock, the better. Did you complete the carving?"

Emerald looked at her feet. That was the part she was least comfortable with. "Yeah. But what was the point of that anyway? Couldn't we have just written it on the wall or something?"

Roman grinned. "What would be the fun in that? But, if you _must_ know, it was a condition of my employer. They're the reason you—and I—get paid."

He picked up his briefcase and placed it on the table, turning it so it would face away from the rest of the pub while opened. Emerald and her companions stared at it. Cracking his knuckles dramatically, Torchwick clicked open the silver clasps and raised the lid. He smirked as his henchmen saw the rows of bills stacked inside.

"Two hundred grand," Roman chuckled. He was grinning from ear to ear. "Not bad for just one target, especially an unarmed, isolated one. You're getting forty each."

Emerald stared at the money. Too much money for something so simple and so unjust, and yet somehow not enough. Forty thousand lien was enough to pay for a real apartment for twelve months. Or she could save it, apply it toward her impossible dream of one day attending a combat school.

Roman snapped the briefcase closed. "I'd lay low tomorrow," he cautioned. "Just in case. Back to regular jobs once this blows over."

Emerald was relieved at the return to the familiar. Pickpocketing, burglary, vandalism, and maybe a dash of sabotage. Anything but this.

* * *

James Ironwood strode down the tapestried hallway, pausing before an unassuming door. He walked with the confidence of routine, although this meeting was anything but. Trailing at his heels was a short, grey-haired scientist, Doctor Bran, who he was accompanying for the meeting. James disliked his own stays in Atlas greatly, as they seemed to consistent of being shuttled between various offices and individuals he couldn't care less about.

This time, however, James cared. Not so much about Mr. Bran himself but rather the project he was in charge of. A project—although for a long time he had forgotten about it—that he had a personal stake in. He hesitated a moment, then rapped on the wooden frame. "It's James," he said in a loud voice.

"Can this wait?" a voice answered. It sounded tired and distant.

"Apparently not, sir," he said. "Doctor Bran here assured me you would want to hear about his breakthrough."

"Doctor Bran? Which department is that?"

The general stooped down as the scientist whispered in his ear. "Military Research, sir," Ironwood said, straightening up. "Something about Aura."

The door opened, revealing a spacious antique office. Jacques Schnee, the head of the most powerful family in Atlas, stood inside it. "You'd better come in."

* * *

The buzz of her scroll jolted Weiss from her sleep. For a moment she lay still, barely registering the noise. Eventually, she groggily rolled over and accepted the message.

"Attention, Miss Schnee," said a pleasant robotic voice. "A new event has been added to your schedule: Meeting with Mr. Schnee at 9:30 AM. Location: Southeast Office. Status: Mandatory. This item was added by user: Jacques Schnee. Thank you." The details of the meeting flashed onto her scroll as the message ended.

So this is what it had come to. Her own dad, needing to use the scroll to say he wanted to talk to her. She _did_ want to talk to him, but not in such a formal way. And why a meeting? Why not a, say, friendly chat? Like a normal parent, which he claimed he wanted to be.

Weiss stood up and shivered. One of the downsides of living in a drafty castle was that central heating could only do so much. The family home seemed as different from the buildings in Atlas as possible. Instead of steel, glass, and concrete, the Schnee family home was comprised of rough-hewn blocks of basalt and granite. Wood paneling, imported from Vacuo, completed the medieval look.

Idly, she questioned the choice in design. Her father would probably explain it as a statement of power, wealth, and tradition. It certainly accomplished that, but she wondered if there was a deeper reason. Did her dad ever grow tired of Atlas's technology, industry, and militaristic conformity? Was the castle—which had been constructed only twenty years earlier—his way of escaping all of that? It sure seemed that way. Other than necessities like ventilation, not a square inch of metal was visible. Even the industrial kitchen and laundry facilities were tucked away behind solid wood doors, where her dad never had to see them.

Weiss put on her slippers and walked to the massive extruding window. She drew the curtain and sat down on the sill. Through the light flurries of snow, Atlas could be seen. It was just close enough that you couldn't forget it was there. She wondered if that was intentional, too.

But it made no sense. If her father wanted out of it sometimes, why did he judge her for wanting the same?

Putting her emotions and unanswered questions aside, she walked over to her closet. Her first instinct was to wear something contrary, rebellious even. But she always did that. It no longer made any impression on her father or anyone else.

Perhaps she should switch it up then, and wear what _was_ proper for a formal meeting. Today she was going to appeal to her dad, and that meant she had to give a little. In more ways than one. Closing her eyes in defeat, she pulled out the intricate blue dress she had dreaded wearing since she got it. Or more accurately, since her father got it for her.

O.K., maybe she was giving a lot. She quickly finished dressing, then spent a few minutes tweaking her hair again. One final, longing glance out the window, and she was ready to leave. Weiss opened her door and was pleasantly surprised to find Klein waiting outside. The portly butler was the one person she was glad to see.

"Miss Schnee," he said, sounding a little unsettled, "you've made yourself quite presentable today."

She gave him a genuine smile, her first in weeks. "Thank you, Klein."

He cleared his throat. "It's not my business to ask, but is there a reason for this change?"

"Really Klein, it's fine," Weiss said, blushing. She liked it when Klein spoke to her normally. "I wore this because...I felt it would be more effective, that's all."

The jovial man nodded. "Well, Little Snowflake, Whitley is eating in the main hall. You may join him if you like."

"I'll consider it," she replied, even though she knew she wouldn't. At least she had an excuse for avoiding her pretentious brother today. Her father awaited her.

* * *

Penny's ears awakened first, catching threads of conversation that flowed around her as she lay dormant. The voices were distant and slightly distorted, not distinguishable from each other, but at least two people were talking.

"—cardiovascular emulation is stable, despite—"

"—functionality should be left—"

"—but the safety of the mainframe—"

"—can't. It's already been set in motion. Now that—"

"—wants results and we have them—"

A river of words drifted above her. They were louder now, and they hurt her head. Where was her head? Did she have a head?

"—rather we didn't lie to him outright. Tell him we need more time. He understands the scope—"

"—this is all in the future—"

"—need the future now."

"—brain simulations have started. If she's ready to wake up, she will."

"—hope so. You understand the risks? If it fails, then—"

"Yes."

There was silence, then blinding light, then shadow with light around the edges. A person was standing over her. He was smiling.

 _Smiling,_ she thought. _This man is my friend._

"Penny?" her friend said. His voice sounded deep and far away. "If you can hear me, say something."

 _Say something._

Her mouth clicked open, tinny voice coming from within. "Sal-u-tations! My name is Penny Polendina. It's a pleasure to meet you."

* * *

 **I'm sorry the perspective changed so many times this chapter. It's partially a side effect of the large narrative cast (of which you only met a few of this chapter), but I will tone it down in the future. Thank you for reading. I appreciate feedback, so drop a review or PM me if you feel more comfortable. Chapter uploads will be every other Thursday night, with occasional exceptions.**

 **Note:**

 **I often use the term "huntsmen" to refer to both men, women, and anyone else because it sounds better than saying "huntsmen and huntresses" every time. Saying "hunters" just doesn't sound right.**


	2. Chapter 2: Foes

**Enjoy everyone! You can find my comments, upload schedule, etc. on the bottom.**

* * *

Chapter 2: Foes

For the first time ever, Jaune felt somewhat like an adult. The tall, blond boy stepped into the plushly carpeted lobby and felt an unexplainable sense of pride. Everything in the room reeked of luxury, from the flamboyant chandelier to the couches laden with overstuffed velvet pillows. Gaudy as hell, but apparently it worked. Effective marketing, even if it told you nothing about how effective the bank's services were.

Despite the efforts of several fans, it was warm inside. Likely, that was due to the sheer number of people packed into it. There were maybe fifty or so of them in line for tellers, more at the service desks, and a sizable amount just passing through, going in or out.

It was Friday afternoon, and with just a few hours until closing, it seemed half of Vale was stopping by to settle things for the weekend. There were a lot of Faunus too. At least a dozen he could see, which was more than you normally saw in one place. That made some people nervous. Faunus and money shouldn't mix, or so they thought. Racists.

While the line was an annoyance, it was his own fault for waiting so long to make the trip. At least he had an excuse for coming on the last day. Between his lack of experience, embarrassing physical, and the crappy essays he'd scrawled out, it had seemed highly unlikely he would be accepted to Beacon. So when the letter arrived, he hadn't been the slightest bit prepared.

Not that he was complaining, of course. It had been his parents' wish that he attend a prestigious school like Beacon Academy, and it had always bothered him a little that he wasn't on the path to doing so. Applying had been a token, in a way. To show his proud parents and his seven sisters who looked up to him that he was trying. Jaune still remembered the look on their faces when he had read them the letter. He smiled unconsciously.

 _Jaune Arc,_ it had read.

 _We thank you for considering Beacon Academy as a choice of schools, and for applying over these past few months. Your test results, essay submissions, and previous schooling were all evaluated as part of our rigorous admissions process._

The schooling was the part Jaune had been most worried about. His parents had offered to send him to a junior academy when he was twelve. He had refused, thinking it would be extra work. It hindsight, he wished they'd forced him to go. His experience with swords was pretty limited, and with other weapons, it was literally zero. Most of the other students applying had already been training for six years or came from backgrounds that afforded them experience.

With his parents being huntsmen themselves, he wasn't bothered that they encouraged him to follow that path himself. It seemed like a fine career choice. When he was younger he had refused, partly out of laziness. But now, with regular school no longer an option, it was the only interesting thing to do.

 _Based on these metrics,_ the letter continued, _you have been accepted to Beacon Academy. Your admission is contingent on you surviving initiation and demonstrating satisfactory skill and effort in the three-month probationary period._

 _Payment for the term is due before the 14th of January and includes meals, housing, and transport while on campus. However, bringing your own weapon is strongly advised, and being familiar with it prior to arrival is encouraged. Additionally, tuition is only refundable in the case of a voluntary or medical withdrawal prior to arrival. No exceptions will be made._

 _Congratulations on your acceptance, and we hope to see you at Beacon in just two short months. More details regarding payment, school policy, and other relevant information are on the attached forms._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Professor Ozpin_

 _Headmaster, Beacon Academy_

And that was it. No information on initiation and its reputation for lethality. Nothing about what your classes would be like or who your teachers were. The forms had just been information about where to go and when to go there, mixed in with some legalese that he didn't really care about. The important part was that tuition was due, either mailed to the campus or brought in person to the financial office in Vale.

Conveniently, the financial office was just a few blocks away from the bank. Less convenient was the fact that the office was probably going to close long before he got his money.

Finally, he spotted some other people his age, a half dozen or so girls and guys lined up in front of a desk in the corner. They seemed like a safe bet, being the only other people in the bank under twenty.

Jaune picked his way through the crowd, casually squeezing in behind the others. He didn't know anyone in line, which was unsurprising but a little awkward since everyone else was talking. For all he knew, it wasn't even the right line. There was only one way to find out. He stepped toward the two girls at the back of the line and cleared his throat.

* * *

"Yaaaang!" the girl groaned. "I'm booored. Entertain me."

Her friend laughed, poking her in the ribs. "Ruby, you knew what you were signing up for when you came here. We're stuck, unless you'd rather skip out on Beacon?"

Ruby's silver eyes bugged out. "What? Of course not!" she said, too startled to consider that her sister might not have been serious.

"Just kidding, sis," Yang said. "I know you wouldn't miss it for the world. It'll be great."

Ruby jiggled her foot nervously. "O.K., but now that we're going to the same school, you need to start acting like a _real_ big sister. That means helping me with my homework, and making friends for me 'cause I don't know anyone, and protecting me from bullies and stuff."

Yang puffed out her cheeks. "Like I don't do those things already."

"Yeah, but—" Ruby's voice was muffled by her sister's hug.

I'll always be there for you, Ruby," she whispered. "Teasing and all. This will be the best year ever."

Ruby nodded in agreement.

"Uhm, hey!" said someone behind her. "Is this, like, the right line?"

* * *

The blond girl stared at him with crossed arms, evidently irritated by his interruption. "Right line for what?"

Jaune blinked. "Oh. Sorry. I'm here to, uh, withdraw some money for school. I have a savings account here, apparently."

The other girl, shorter and with darker hair, looked at him excitedly. "Really?" she said. "You wouldn't be going to Beacon, would you?"

"Ruby, don't be silly," said her friend. "What are the odds he's going to—"

Actually, I am going to Beacon," Jaune said, straightening up. "This fall."

"That's so cool!" Ruby babbled. "I wasn't actually going there for two more years. On account of me, well, not being old enough. But then I fought some bad guys, and I got arrested, and long story short, they're letting me go early."

Jaune gave a little cough. "So this _is_ the right line?"

Now it was the blonde's turn to speak. "So far as I know. I've never been here before, I just followed the herd. Our, uh, dad told us to go here."

"That make two of us, huh," Jaune said, surprised at how well the conversation seemed to be going. "What's your name anyway?"

"You first," she said. Her arms remained crossed over her leather jacket.

"Jaune Arc. Future student, aspiring huntsman, general nobody."

"Hmit."

"Yang Xiao-Long, you're acting like a jerk," Ruby piped in. "And I see no reason for it. I've concluded that you just don't like Jaune."

Yang bit her lip. "Or maybe I just don't know him?"

Jaune raised his hands, palms out. "That's O.K. Yang, is it? I only needed to make sure I was in the right place. I'll stay out of you and your sister's way. I can't, like, literally move away, because I'm in line, but I'll try to, and — you get my point."

Yang raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I was—oh. Fine, then." She rolled her eyes as Jaune awkwardly turned and walked a few paces away."

"What?" Ruby said in a half-whisper. "Yang, you don't decide who I talk to? That was like, the one person I've met who's going to Beacon."

"You know he actually chose to leave. I didn't tell him. I didn't even suggest it."

"Maybe you didn't tell him, but he sure got the message."

"You can do better than him, Ruby. And you shouldn't be worrying about that anyway."

"I'm not—" Ruby made air quotes—"into him, Yang. For once I feel like talking to people and you treat it like it's a dig or something. I'm just trying to make friends."

"Fine then, make your own friends," retorted Yang. "I won't stop you."

Ruby's lip curled as her sister turned away.

* * *

"Hello, father."

The man behind the desk was old, but the gleam in his eyes showed he hadn't lost an ounce of his fire. "Weiss," he said. "Three minutes late, but I think we can excuse that. Take a seat."

A conversation with Jacques Schnee was an opportunity that most people in Atlas would jump at, but for Weiss, it was an unpleasant fact of life. Even talking to her brother Whitley would have been more desirable.

Weiss sat, sliding out the lumpy armchair. Her eyes looked up nervously, and her father met them. "To business, then?" he said, sliding a stack of papers he had been looking at to the side. Her heart sank.

"To business," she echoed lamely.

"Don't pretend to be disinterested, Weiss. Why, you even told me you wanted to talk."

"I wanted to talk, Dad, but not like this. If you want to talk then we should just do that, instead of you...you summoning me here and treating me like one of your bloodthirsty business partners. You should hope that one day I'm not treating my own daughter that way."

Her father grinned cruelly. "I should hope your own daughter doesn't behave like you do. After all, it's because of this kind of disrespectful behavior that you aren't the heiress anymore."

Weiss gave him an exasperated look. "Can you please just tell me why I'm here?"

He didn't answer directly. "You're aware of the Schnee family's deep ties to the Atlas military, and I don't just mean your sister Winter," Jacques said the name oddly, tinged with bitterness and regret. "We have numerous contracts and projects underway at this very moment."

"Of course."

"I have just been informed that one such project is ready to begin, except they're missing something."

Weiss squirmed. "And I have something to do that?"

Jacques' head turned to gaze upon a framed map of Remnant on the wall. "Do you still want to leave, Weiss?"

"Sorry?"

"Leave. Depart. Finish your schooling other than here in Atlas." He flicked the brass astrolabe resting on his desk.

Weiss's mouth went wide with surprise. "Of course!" she sputtered. "You just had never really receptive to that before."

"I'm not doing this out of charity. Nor am I rewarding your behavior, which has been _abysmal_ as of late. Assuming you agree to it, you'll first be enrolled at Beacon Academy in Vale. Between your skills and my influence you should have no trouble being accepted."

"Hold it right there," Weiss interrupted. "I'm not stupid, Father. If you think—"

"Weiss Schnee!" he snapped. "You will not speak to me that way."

"Father," she began, after a long pause. "Dad. First of all, I'm sorry. Second, I know you might find this hard to believe, but I would be willing to do many things for you. For this—" she spat out the word. "Family. But pretending to be a student just to be your spy at Beacon is not one of them."

"You're quick to jump to conclusions, Weiss," Jacques said, amused. "You'd be a real student, and you wouldn't be spying, either."

"Then why send me there? Obviously, you're not doing it out of kindness."

Jacques ignored the affront. "Experimentation has been underway for years in almost every Kingdom with the goal of channeling Aura through an artificial being. For the first time, Atlas scientists have been successful in creating one. They believe it is strong and convincing enough to apply to a combat school. That's where you come in."

"I'm babysitting a robot?"

"You could put it that way. You'd be guiding and mentoring a synthetic human."

"I guess that sounds a little better, but," Weiss frowned, "I still don't know all the details. It just doesn't seem feasible. How long would it be before the robot just… slipped up?"

Her father leaned over the desk and spoke with a whisper. "I don't know the details myself, but let me assure you I wouldn't be backing this if these was a chance it would _slip up_." He sat back down, clearing his throat. "Doctor Bran," he called out. "Stop hovering outside the door and come in, would you?"

The door opened to admit a balding man in a dirty lab coat. He was short, even to Weiss, smelled of whiskey, and sported the drooping face and stiff upper lip of an alcoholic. Weiss immediately disliked him; she had enough of those in her life already. Upon seeing her, his mouth twisted into an insincere smile.

"M-miss Schnee," he stuttered. "It's so good to finally meet you." He didn't offer his hand, which she was grateful for. His voice was like Klein's, only nerdy and depressed-sounding, and it irked her.

For a moment the three of them stood there, unsure of who should begin. Then Jacques raised an eyebrow.

The scientist swallowed. "I just wanted to let you know, sir, as you well know, this project is highly confidential."

Jacques let out an exasperated sigh. "For Grimm's sake, doctor, tell me something I don't know."

Bran went red in the face. "All that means," he continued, "is that we can't afford any loose ends. I want to make sure that your daughter is fully committed to the project before I fill her in on the details."

Weiss opened her mouth, but her father spoke first. "Of course she's committed. You may continue."

Weiss fumed. Her father was right: she was committed, but to hear it from his mouth rather than her own made it seem like the decision wasn't in her hands. That being said, if she voiced resistance to his plan it would be back to solitary for her.

"This entire program is a trial run," said Bran. "A trial run for the first successful creation of the Synthetic Aura Project, called SNAP for short. It grew out of the old exoskeleton programs, and as such can do pretty much anything a human can—and then some."

"I've met plenty of robots before," challenged Weiss. "And while they were all very functional, none of them could come close to passing as skilled or intelligent." She paused for a second. "How should I address it? I can't just say 'it' or 'the robot' to people that aren't supposed to know."

Bran's smile grew wider. "Miss Schnee, you've just hit upon two of the biggest schisms in the project. You see, this project wasn't trying to create artificial Aura, like an energy shield, it was to create an artificial conduit for the same Aura inside of you and me. It is my belief that real Aura grants sentience inherently. That is why humanity has it, why Penny has it, and why the Grimm don't.

Weiss turned her head to one side. "Penny," she mused. "I'm sorry, who's that?"

Bran's irises twinkled. "Why don't I let Penny answer for herself?"

Jacques' eyes flashed dangerously in response. "Doctor," he said in a low, steady voice. "I wasn't aware they'd be meeting _today_. And I did not agree to have that _experiment_ in my office."

"It'll be quite safe, I assure you." An uneasy frown betrayed Bran's otherwise confident look. "General Ironwood is here to restrain her if needed, but I don't think that will be necessary. With your permission, sir?"

Weiss's father nodded stiffly. Bran placed two fingers in his mouth and attempted to whistle. The pitiful hissing that issued from his mouth was anything but.

"Very funny, Bran," said Jacques. "I see why the circus didn't work out."

"Penny? General Ironwood?" the doctor said sheepishly. "You can come in now."

The door opened with a bang. Its wooden frame, used to gentle handling, rocketed outward and ricocheted off a bookcase. Weiss's hand dropped to her sword instinctively, squeezing its hilt in anticipation. Ironwood entered first and took his seat. The renowned general was muscular and grey-clad. He had a look of impatience on his face. A ginger-haired, nervous looking girl in green overalls entered after. She gave Weiss a little wave before taking a seat beside the general.

"James," Jacques said, in a tone that was neither inviting nor hostile. "It's relieving to see someone as…qualified as yourself involved."

Ironwood nodded. "I've only been filled in recently. I'm here to keep Penny in line during her time here. Not, of course, that I'll need to."

The girl gave him a look of astonishment. "Of course not, Mr. Ironwood! I wouldn't want to make trouble for you."

"Hold on," said Weiss, leaning in for a closer look. "You're Penny. You're the robot?"

Weiss had a certain image in mind when she thought of robots. The grey Sentinels of Atlas were unmatched in their loyalty, efficiency, and consistency. Over the past three decades, they had gradually begun to replace humans in the most routine and hazardous military positions. Now thousands of the greys maintained peace and order within the four Kingdoms. Over time, had begun to place more and more trusted in their mechanized guardians, regarding them with the same respect they did human officers. Until now.

In the past few years, respect for the Sentinels had deteriorated along with non-Atlesians' opinion of Atlas itself. To them, it was a reminder of how the safety of their walls, the very foundation of the Kingdoms themselves, was preserved by Atlas's strength and not their own. Yet the nervous, freckled face before her was so unlike the blank, metallic faces she was used to.

Penny looked puzzled. "People keep telling me that, that I'm a robot. I know that means I'm made of something different than you are, but I don't feel any different."

Ironwood placed a huge hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Penny. It doesn't matter for now."

Well," continued Bran, "it seems as though everyone's here. I believe you're all acquainted with the General. Mr. Schnee, Weiss, meet Penny. Penny, this is Mr. Schnee and his daughter, Weiss."

Jacques remained silent and folded his hands in his lap, seemingly reluctant to acknowledge Penny's existence. Weiss felt no such reservations, immediately reaching out to shake her hand. Her father's immediate distrust of Penny emboldened her to be more friendly than usual.

"Nice to meet you, Penny," she said. Penny's firm handshake felt slightly alien, but not plasticky or metallic like she'd expected.

Bran looked down on everyone seated with content, like he enjoyed being the tallest for once. "So Penny, what do you think? You and Weiss will be going to school in a few months. She'll be helping you get acquainted since it's your first time attending one."

"Weiss is very polite!" announced Penny.

"That's great, Penny," Bran said. "But I really wanted to know how you felt about going to school."

"She shook my hand and said that it was nice to meet me," Penny continued, oblivious. "No one's told me that before. And Mr. Schnee didn't shake my hand." She looked down at her hands. "Did I do something wrong?"

Bran went a little red again. "I'm sorry. She speaks her mind sometimes and doesn't like to change topics without finishing. Which is why we have this," He turned to Penny and cleared his throat. "Penny, snap out of it."

Penny's eyes glazed over for a second. Her head lulled before snapping back to attention. "I'm sorry, what were we talking about again?"

"Nothing important, Penny, you're fine," Bran assured her. His expression was pained. "It's a vocal trigger," he explained. "It purges the current train of thought."

Jacques nodded. "I'm glad you have some degree of control over it. Are there any other commands?"

Bran looked mortified. "Sir, I hope you understand that Penny's autonomy and independence are at the core of this project. There are other commands, a temporary memory wipe and remote shutoff, but they are just safety features. They're not tools for people like you to manipulate her with. Imagine going through your day knowing that at any point you could forget what you were doing, be made to do something else, and then forget that too. It breaks my heart just thinking about it."

He paused and turned to Penny. "Penny, blank thirty seconds," Bran said, then turned back. "There. So her innocence is maintained."

Jacques waved his hand to silence Ironwood's protest before giving Bran his most venomous glare. "I hope you're not feeling any sentiment, Doctor. It, she, whatever, is not your daughter. She's military property that I helped finance, and if I deem you detrimental to the project I can have you removed."

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Mr. Schnee," Penny interrupted. "I've had a very confusing day, and I don't understand what I did wrong."

"She's right, Dad," said Weiss. "I'm tired of sitting here while you treat her, like you treat us, like we aren't even people. You claimed this meeting was about _us_!"

Her father let the silence hang for a moment before speaking. "It was, but now it isn't. General, escort the girls out and make sure they stay out. I have a few more questions for the creator of this ridiculous _thing_."

"Come on girls, let's go." Ironwood stood up and left with Penny skittering behind him. Weiss held her father's gaze as long as she had to before fleeing the office as fast as her heels could carry her.

* * *

"Name?" said an irritated voice, echoing through Ruby's thoughts. Inside her head, imaginary guns ceased firing, and hordes of ferocious Grimm were shaken from her thoughts. She took her headphones off.

"I'm going to need your name, girl," said the voice, much louder now. Ruby looked at the line of people behind her and then ahead at the counter.

"Ah! I'm sorry," she said to the teller. "I was totally zoned out and not paying attention, and I hope I didn't waste too much of your time."

The old man dropped his gruff demeanor. "I've seen a lot of absent-minded students," he said. "I don't mind. First name and last name, please."

"Oh, right. It's 'Ruby,' and I guess put 'Xiao-Long' for the last name."

Ruby waited while he entered it in.

"No. I'm not seeing anyone named Ruby." he said, smiling apologetically.

"That's funny. My dad would have been the one to set it up. Try 'Rose,' then."

The keyboard clicked rhythmatically as the man typed. He nodded. "It's all here. I just need to see some valid ID, like a license."

"I don't have one of those yet," she said. "But I do have some papers my uncle gave me."

"Those should be fine. Just give me a minute to go through it all."

Ruby turned away as the teller went to work. It definitely wouldn't be the last time someone asked for her nonexistent license. Such was the nature of being ahead of the curve. Of course, she'd jumped at the chance to go straight to Beacon with Yang, but hadn't thought over all the strings attached, like losing friends and being expected to manage your life all by herself. While she had bemoaned the loss of her friends a little, it wasn't like she had many close ones. Most of her free time had been spent training or goofing off with Qrow.

Some sort of commotion was happening at the front of the bank. Ruby glanced back to see a standoff between some businessmen and a group of Faunus. Large groups of Faunus made people nervous, as they were often associated with organized crime, or, worse, a dangerous cult like the White Fang. An unfair assumption, but one that was common enough to cause worry.

Not too long ago the White Fang was considered the greatest threat to the stability of the Kingdoms. That was back when threats were spoken of collectively, when the stability of one was the stability of all. The Kingdoms had been formed out of reliance on each other, but now it seemed they only relied on Atlas—and they didn't like it.

This tension frustrated Ruby to no end. Instead of an independent force united against evil, Huntsmen were becoming increasingly factionalized, working for a single Kingdom. If a war, even a small one, broke out, who would they side with? What would Remnant's greatest heroes do when pitted against each other? Ruby had learned of the issue when her dad had voiced it almost a year earlier, but Ruby remembered it like it was yesterday.

" _It scares me, Ruby," he said with a grimace, "the stuff that's going on right now."_

" _What is it, Dad? Some new kind of Grimm?"_

 _Her father's weary, gentle face looked up at her. He laughed. "If only, Ruby, if only. I long for the days when our problems were as simple as a flock of Nevermore. I fear no monster, but these letters I've been getting—" A shiver ran down Taiyang's proud, chiseled frame._

" _Dad!" Ruby exclaimed, grabbing him by the elbow. He recovered immediately, squeezing her hand in comfort._

" _It's fine. I'm fine. It's just…" He shook the stack of letters in his hand. "This is something, isn't it."_

 _Ruby peered at the fine manilla and was surprised to see the official seals of the Kingdoms on each one. "What do they say, Dad?"_

" _They're letters of recruitment from each Kingdom, asking me to join a 'coalition' of sorts. Essentially, they want me to pick a side."_

" _That doesn't sound too bad. A side in what?"_

 _Taiyang's mouth was dry. "A war. A war we swore would never happen. It still might not, but this is the diciest things have ever been."_

" _Did you write back?"_

" _Of course not. No huntsmen can swear allegiance to a particular Kingdom, to stop us from being used as soldiers. That goes back to the very foundations of the job. We're supposed to work on a contractual basis only."_

" _But don't you work mostly for Vale?" she asked._

 _Taiyang smiled guiltily. "You're right about that. Mostly for your and Yang's sake, I want to stay close to Patch, relatively speaking. The rule about allegiance was always sort of…irrelevant for me. I don't care who I work for. If war breaks out I'm fighting for my home and family, not a Kingdom, and I think most huntsmen would say the same."_

" _So we're fine then? If people aren't going to listen to the letters."_

" _You're assuming all huntsmen have a home and family. A lot of them don't. You're also assuming all huntsmen are honorable. Which is fair, because you've only known good ones. Some have gone rogue and would slit a farmer's throat for a handful of lien."_

 _Ruby's face had lost a little color. She pushed her plate forward. "Why would the Kingdoms want a bunch of rogues? And why would the rogues want to help them?"_

 _Tai's arm slammed downward. His fork stuck in his plate with a quiver. "Because they're murderers, Ruby! If Huntsmen were pitted against each other they'd have no reservations about drawing blood."_

 _Ruby's eyes turned inward and she began to quake a little. "Wh-what are you going to do, Dad?"_

 _Tai looked down at his youngest daughter with masked shame. "Is Yang home soon?" he said almost curiously._

" _She should be back from her class in an hour."_

" _Is Qrow in town?" he said, casually sliding out his chair._

" _He was at school today, I think so. Why?" Ruby's question floated away unanswered, drowned out by the spats of rain outside. Then the door slammed._

 _An hour later it opened as Yang, hair slick with rain, returned home. Instead of the warm cheer of the living room and the greetings of Dad and Ruby awaiting her, there was only silence and darkness. Seeing the uncleared table with fork eerily stuck into it, she rushed forward. The kitchen hadn't been cleaned. Bowls of food and utensils were strewn across the counter. A bolt of lightning illuminated a figure huddled on the ground in front of the window._

 _Ruby's fingers ran across the glass in a futile attempt to catch the water streaking down it. Smears of fingerprints covered the fogged surface._

" _Why did he leave, Yang," she sobbed. "We were just talking, and I asked what he was going to do… he just left. And I called… over and over."_

 _Yang immediately regretted leaving her scroll off. She wrapped her arms around her younger sister. "I'm so sorry, Ruby. I'm here now, and Dad's going to be back soon. I'm sure he just had to do something…"_

 _Over a year later and there was still no trace of him. Qrow, hearing of his disappearance, stayed with them in Patch. A departure from his usual wanderlust, but one he was determined to keep up until Tai returned. Ruby now understood why Yang was so determined to find her own mother. A family without parents is like a shattered moon, functional but—_

"Hello? Hello?" said a distant, familiar voice. "My, I might need to revise my earlier statement. You really are the most absent-minded kid in Remnant, aren't you?"

Ruby's eyes uncrossed as she was driven from her stupor. "Ah! Sorry again. Man, I am really not on top of things today."

The teller handed over a clipboard and pen. "Here," he said. "Payment should be automatic from here on out, provided you have adequate funds. Just sign at the bottom."

The letters seemed to swim on the page. Ruby wrote in her usual loopy signature with a heart at the end, feeling a little goofy for doing so on an official document. She rolled the pen across the counter.

"Am I all set?" she said hesitantly.

" _You_ are," he joked. "Me? I've got a few hundred left. Luckily we're closing soon."

Ruby nodded feebly, walking away from the counter. She felt weak, dizzy, and unsure of herself, which happened every time she recalled her father's disappearance and her complete inability to do anything about it. Then the lights went out. With the windows draped and blocking most of the sunlight, everything took on a fuzzy grey color. A scream pierced the previous low murmurs of conversation.

The scream was drowned out by a thought-scrambling boom that caused the floor to slide and shake. Ruby tried to run, only to find herself on the ground. A foot trod painfully on her head. She crawled to her feet. Sunlight streamed in through a crude hole in the ceiling. Huge chunks of concrete littered the floor and the air was thick with dust. Under some of the larger chunks, Ruby could see legs, arms, and bodies. A few were flailing, but most were deathly still. Turning around she saw the kindly old teller's head caved in against the counter. Blood and gore were seeping out around the nearly flattened skull, which had been struck by a falling wooden support. She felt horribly sick.

A stream of grey and black-clad figures with hideous Grimm masks poured through the door, while others descended on ropes from the destroyed ceiling. They carried an array of vicious-looking scimitars, knives, and clubs. Their outfits and animal features were unmistakable. The White Fang were here.

The few huntsmen and huntsmen-in-training in the building had a fighting chance, but they were outnumbered ten to one. The civilians weren't so lucky. Ruby watched in horror as a frightened woman was tripped and savagely beaten by a wolf Faunus, who kicked the body to the side. The rest were still trying to shove their way through the doors, cowering in the shadows, nursing injuries, lying unconscious or dead. Yang was nowhere to be seen.

Crescent Rose came out instinctively. The first group of thugs coming towards Ruby had their legs swept out from under them by the handle of the partially-unfolded scythe. The rest skidded in their tracks, staying out of the weapon's reach. Ruby let the blade extend fully, even though she likely wouldn't be using it. More than a few of the grunts would have inactive or drained auras. Terrorists and murderers they might be, but they didn't deserve death.

Ruby hefted her scythe again, blade side down. Suddenly, a fast-moving figure tackled her from the side, sending her sliding across the room before colliding with a wall. It wasn't until she looked up that Ruby realized who had jumped her.

"Yang! What was that for?"

Yang pushed a finger against her lips. "Saving you, obviously," she whispered. "Come on, we have to get out of here."

A silent fury flared up inside of Ruby. "They're killing people, Yang!" she pleaded. "They're killing them and we're the only ones that can fight back."

Yang shook her head vigorously, although she hated herself for doing it. "It's not our job. We're still students. Police and professionals are already on the way."

Ruby felt an electric prickling, building up to a hot flash. Her finicky semblance had chosen this moment to go. Yang was left grasping at air as a crimson tornado erupted from her arms.

* * *

Jaune didn't know what the hell was going on. He had been minding his business in line, slightly ticked off from the argument earlier, when some kind of explosion had blown out the lights and damaged the building. Now, these thieves, terrorists, whatever-their-motive-was Faunus were storming the building. The White Fang, they were called. Luckily Crocea Mors had been on hand to shield him from debris, but his troubles were just getting started. His sword and shield were singling him out as someone who would put up a fight, regardless of his actual skill. It was too late to hide them. Already, a squad was closing in on him.

Jaune was pretty sure he knew who their leaders were. Two tall black cloaked figures stood side by side within a clump of the Faunus. They were the only ones without masks, but their faces were too dark to make out. Neither had a weapon visible, but one, the smaller of the two, was whispering into their wrist. It had to be a microphone or something.

One Fang charged right at him. "Death to the humans!" he yelled, brandishing a bloodied sword. "Today their greediest will taste defeat."

A siren blared in the distance. Jaune suppressed a laugh. A few cops would be nothing but a nuisance to a force like this.

Then a red blur swept through the ranks of Fangs, bowling them over and knocking them to the ground. A vicious-looking scythe emerged from the red. Jaune winced, but instead, the scythe snapped back, bluntly striking two Fangs in the head. A hooded figure coalesced from the dissipating blur, trailing strange flakes that reminded him of rose petals. The mysterious, pacifist reaper dashed between him and the approaching thugs.

"Jaune," his protector yelled. "Can you help me out here?"

He was stunned. "Ruby, is that you?"

The hood came off. Ruby looked back at him in determination. "I've got them covered here. Find somewhere to help!"

Jaune could do nothing but nod stupidly as he scrambled back into the shadows. Ruby's skill was seriously intimidating. If that was what was expected of him… he would be better off just leaving. The exit seemed really inviting right now. He began to creep towards it, hiding behind pillars and scrambling under collapsed desks.

The fighting was increasingly focused between the front ranks of Fangs and a small group of disorganized but incredibly powerful individuals. A grey-haired, portly man moved with remarkable agility, punching a hole in the White Fang's ranks with his lance. Meanwhile, a variety of metal crates and bundles wrapped with black cloth were being lowered through the ceiling. Tools for cracking the vault? Another bomb? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

One door remained intact and Jaune moved quickly toward it. He pulled down the handle and sighed with relief to find it unlocked. Behind it was some kind of generic office. There was a security gate, but it only went up to his waist and was unlocked. On the far wall was an oval, steel-plated door with three enormous locks on it. No way out there. Next to it were some armchairs set in a half-circle around a coffee table. The top of someone's head rested against the top of one. Another survivor, hopefully.

"Hello?" he said tentatively. "Are you alright?"

He walked into the ring of chairs and froze. The chairs were empty. Someone had been there before and nothing had moved, he was sure of it. Yet now, only a few moments later, it was empty. Empty, save for a pink, lacy umbrella. Idly, he grabbed it. Or rather, he tried to. Before he could a black glove materialized and deftly snatched it away.

Jaune reeled back. "What the hell!" he sputtered, toppling backward onto the carpet. He looked up.

A gloved finger wagged at him delicately. The umbrella swished from side to side. Pouty lips curled to scorn him. The tiny girl sat cross-legged over him in a black jumpsuit. Her hair was bizarrely divided into two curls, one pink and one brown. He would have laughed if not for the eyes. They were mismatched, one chocolate brown and one pinkish like the hair. She stared at him with her head slightly tilted. Although Jaune couldn't think of why, he sensed the cruelty in those eyes. Cruelty that was not specific to him, but directed at whatever unfortunate soul had her attention.

Oh, and she was attractive, too. The jumpsuit left little to his imagination, and something about her pouty smirk was inviting, in a demented sort of way. The strange mix of emotions, fear, surprise, desire, and uncertainty overwhelmed him. As such, he did something that would in any other circumstance leave him hanging his head in shame.

"You're… really hot," he blurted, then slapped his hands to his mouth. "Shit."

* * *

 **Down the rabbit hole you go, Jaune. You'll survive, I promise. I just can't promise you'll be unharmed. In fact, I might as well just say that you won't. So yeah this chapter came out at six and a half thousand words, more than 70% longer than the last one. If it was any longer, I would have split it in two, but it ended right where I wanted it to so I left it.**

 **I'm not too happy with the pacing. I meant for the attack on the bank to be very sudden, coming after a long period of nothing but talking, but it seems a little more 0-100 than I intended. Of course, that's not to say it's nothing but action from here on out. In the grand scheme of the story, we are still well within the "setup" portion.**

 **Right now I'm uploading one chapter a week to my account, and I have two stories, so see you guys in two weeks.**

 **As usual, I highly appreciate any feedback, so drop a review (even a short one) or PM me.**


	3. Chapter 3: Crows

**I stayed up until 2 AM to get this out on time. I hope it was worth it!**

* * *

Chapter 3: Crows

It was almost nightfall when the lights of the town finally appeared in the treeline. The crow had been flying all day with hardly any rest, and now it collapsed unceremoniously on the ground. To any onlooker, it would seem like the tiny black bird had collapsed out of tiredness.

Not drunkenness. Qrow dragged his decidedly less tiny human form to its feet, brushing off his grey cloak. His flask, of course, probably shouldn't have accompanied him on such a crucial and timely journey. But regret wouldn't make his headache, his dry mouth, or his fatigue go away. The drink did, however, make the long and monotonous trip more bearable, and had emboldened him to take such a risk in the first place.

Qrow took one heavy step, found his balance, and began strolling through the damp field toward the village. The clearing of grass was shaded enough to still be holding the remainder of the morning's rain. His feathers, and with them his human clothes and skin, weren't so lucky. They had baked in the sun all day and were covered in dust. A little rain would have been a relief, and it might have even helped clear his head.

He quickened his pace; sentries often got antsy after the sun went down, and he had no desire to take a dozen arrows to the chest. Although his aura could probably handle it. Flying straight over the walls had been another option, but came with its own problems. Most towns didn't appreciate travelers suddenly appearing inside their gates. They preferred it when you walked right through their gate and stated your business. A small town like this probably had a twenty-man watch, with five or six on duty at once, plus the aid of whatever huntsmen were passing through. Armed with whatever rudimentary weapons they had, the town was protected against most small and mid-sized forces of Grimm. Larger ones would be reported to the nearest Kingdom, who would send a force to have the monsters scattered or destroyed.

The ground within fifty yards of the village had been kept clear of brush to deter ambushes. Qrow remained outside the well-maintained circle of dirt, using his sword to cut through small branches in his way. It certainly wasn't designed to do that, but his aura ensured the blade kept its unnatural sharpness no matter how much abuse it took. Creeper vines and sagging magnolia branches yielded before him as he chopped his way through.

The front side of the village was cleared completely as far as he could see, with a dirt path running up to the gate. Lined with stones on both sides, it snaked back and forth for no apparent reason. The path's aesthetic nature clashed with the practical, rough-hewn look of the village walls. Qrow went straight to the gate, paying the twists and turns of the road no heed. It wasn't until he was within a few meters of the entrance that he was stopped.

"Hold it right there!" said a commanding, yet slightly nervous voice from upon the walls. "State your business in Haafen and we'll think about letting you in."

Qrow rolled his eyes, although the gesture was concealed below his hood. "Isn't it sufficient to just say I'm passing through?"

"I wish it were," the watchman responded, "but it's getting late, times are bad, and we've had incidents before. Ambushes and other plots to breach our walls, that have forced us to vet travelers more thoroughly. Will you be staying in town?"

"No," answered Qrow without a hint of uncertainty.

The sentry sounded surprised. "If you're spending any length of time here—actually, even if you turned around right now, you'd be foolish to do so. It's three hours' run to the closest settlement, and the sun's down in less than one."

"Who says I'd be running?" Qrow said, tilting his head. "Can't I just come in already? I'm meeting a friend."

"Very well," said the watchman, unable to find any fault with his explanation. "Stand by the gate and come through as soon as it opens. I can't leave it like that all day."

Qrow grunted in response and walked to the gate, a slight indentation in the wall with logs cut in a criss-cross pattern, unlike the left-to-right of the wall itself. As he approached it the logs were drawn up, pulled by some sort of crude pulley or winch. He headed through and watched as it was lowered behind him.

Haafen's interior was considerably less bare than its exterior. Neatly paved streets of cobblestone ran between rows of houses. The smell of wood smoke was in the air, but not overly heavy. Streetlights on quaint little posts stood on every corner. The houses themselves were simple: log cabins with stone foundations for the most part, but they were spacious, bright, and clean-looking.

While not large enough to have what might be considered neighborhoods, Haafen was clearly divided into a residential and non-residential area. Roughly circular in shape, rows of houses ran from Qrow's left to the far wall of the village. On his right was a large warehouse, a few open areas, some shops, and hopefully, a pub. That was his destination.

"Hey!" said a voice from just behind him. Qrow turned to see the sentry climbing down a ladder on the edge of the wall. The man was older than he would have thought, of medium height and build, black-haired but with a beard that was already greying. His armor was a leather cap and jerkin that looked homemade. He didn't appear to be armed.

"Sorry about earlier," the man said, stopping and leaning against the ladder. "You don't seem like a bad sort."

Qrow nodded, aware that the cloak and oversized sword at his back weren't doing him any favors. "I could say the same of you."

The sentry turned and walked back to the ladder. "I meant it when I said you shouldn't leave town tonight," he called over his shoulder. "I have no doubt you can handle yourself, but finding your way in the forest at night is impossible, even with a light. Do yourself a favor, stay here in town."

 _I wish I could_ , Qrow thought, already imagining the effects of the return trip on his weary frame. Putting the thought aside, he ran his hands through his hair, trying his best to look presentable. He had an appointment to keep.

It was late enough in the day that a small crowd was already headed toward a flat-roofed, dingy building, which considering the number of people entering it could only be a bar or restaurant. The crowd gathered outside didn't turn to look at him or whisper as he walked past, meaning the town was used to visitors, wanderers. Qrow's type, at least until this past year.

 _The Family Man's Folly_ , the pub was called. Qrow chuckled at the name. Assuming he found who he meant to find here, it was truly ironic.

Qrow pressed through the door, adjusting his sword slightly on his back so it didn't catch in the frame. It was early in the evening and most of _The Family Man's_ patrons were more interested in eating than drinking. Of course, that didn't stop the more unruly ones from arm wrestling, slapping each other on the back, and punctuating every sentence with roars of laughter.

There were also women with them, some even accompanied by their small children. They sat behind tables and booths in the back with nervous expressions on their faces. Likely all they wanted was to eat their food in peace and get out without their husband being dragged into a bar brawl.

It wasn't Qrow's kind of place, that was for sure. He preferred ones with strong drink, friendly barkeeps, and quiet—or better yet, nonexistent—patrons. For the last thirteen months, he'd kept himself at least half-sober, ensuring that his nieces got _some_ form of parenting. Not that they couldn't handle themselves. While he had an excuse for being in the bar, he couldn't risk drinking anymore considering what he had ahead of him.

On that note, what exactly was ahead of him?

"Listen," said Qrow to a clearly overworked server, tapping her hard on the shoulder and nearly spilling her tray of food and drinks.

The woman turned, a dark stain spreading across the collar of her red and gold uniform. Her black hair was pinned to the side of her head, likely for cleanliness, but the style suited her. She briefly looked frightened, but her shoulders relaxed and Qrow realized she had merely been startled.

"Can I help you?" she said, face cross, setting the tray down on the side of the bar.

"Yeah," Qrow said, already red face turning more so. "Look, I'm sorry I almost spilled your food. It's… it's been a day."

"I can sympathize," the server said with a pained smile, gesturing to the overloaded tray. "But I'm too busy to talk right now, and if you're trying to order you should really do it at the bar. Is there something else you need?"

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I'm meeting an old friend. Well, I say meeting, but rather I'm hoping to find him here." He then jerked a thumb at the narrow staircase hugging the wall of the pub. "There wouldn't happen to be more people up there, would there?"

"There are," she answered, pausing for a moment. "Mostly visitors like you who don't enjoy the hustle and bustle. Shady—I mean, mysterious folk. If your friend is anything like you, that would be the place to find him."

"Thanks," Qrow said, turning away.

He hadn't gotten but a single pace when he felt this hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," the server said, turning him around. "We weren't done."

"I'm sorry, was there something else?"

"Not really," she said, looking at the ground. "But I'm off in three hours and I've got nothing to do. You know, if you're finished with your meeting by then…"

"Oh," Qrow muttered. He was about to accept out of instinct when he remembered Ruby and Yang back at home.

That being said, his nieces would be asleep by the time he returned anyway. An extra hour or two couldn't hurt, and really, opportunities like this had been scarce since he'd started caring for them. A smile played across his face.

"I'd love to," he said, walking back toward the staircase.

* * *

Jaune struggled to get to his feet, shoes sliding on the carpet but finding no traction. All he succeeded in doing was pushing himself against the far wall of the office. Hopes of saving a helpless civilian had been abandoned; this girl clearly wasn't one. She stared down at him. Her expression hadn't changed, but she seemed amused at his reaction.

His emotions were changing now. Surprise had faded, and he'd dismissed any lust he felt as immature and senseless. But the fear continued to hover over him, irrational and yet perfectly sensible. The only thing he could do was address his mounting confusion.

"Who… who are you?" he managed to get out, voice slightly unsteady. "How did you get here?"

Pouty Lips didn't answer. She leaned forward in her boots and stood up, holding the tip of her umbrella with one hand and the handle with the other. Outside of the armchair, Jaune got a better look at her. Somehow, she was even shorter than she had appeared while sitting. Around the height of his sisters—who weren't even done growing yet. He might have mistaken her for a child if not for the shape of her face, which was narrow and angular. That and, well, the shape of the rest of her.

Any thoughts he had were interrupted as a rasp of metal on metal yanked him back to reality. Pouty Lips' vulpine smile widened as her umbrella's handle did, drawing from within it a shining line of steel. It wasn't so much a sword as it was a skewer, a centimeter or two in diameter at the handle, tapering to a needle point. As she turned the blade it caught the light, revealing a set of tiny metal teeth on the bottom.

"No, no, no," breathed Jaune. He tried to scramble back, but there was nowhere left to scramble. "I didn't mean what I said before! You just surprised me and well… it came out. I take it back, and I promise I'll never bother you again. Just don't hurt me."

Pouty Lips didn't pause, didn't even seem to notice what he had said. She advanced so slowly the three or four meters between them took what felt like an age for her to cross. It was eerie how she hadn't made a sound, save for her breathing. And all the while the sword swung, blade down, back and forth in her hand like a pendulum.

Jaune tugged at Crocea Mors, attempting to free it from his belt loop. He extricated the sword after just a moment, but the accompanying shield was slower in coming, pinned against his back. A few seconds later he stopped, opting to hold his weapon in both hands instead.

This got Pouty Lips' attention. She sneered at the weapon he had drawn. One eye, the pink one, was staring directly at him, while the brown one looked in a completely different direction. Whether she had a lazy eye or was just being creepy was beyond him.

Suddenly a feeling of weakness swept over Jaune. It wasn't until he looked down that he realized why. The tip of Pouty Lips' sword hovered in front of his stomach. A small, jagged hole had been ripped in his brown sweatshirt. He hadn't even seen the strike. His aura had protected him, but if his past experience was any indication it wouldn't do so much longer.

More pressing was the fact that she had tried to stab him. Jaune swept his own sword up to bat the skewer away, but she withdrew it before his own, much heavier blade could reach it. Expecting an impact, the wild swing put him slightly off balance. Before he could recover Pouty Lips struck again, blade flicking in and out like a serpent. Another hole in his jacket. Another horrible, draining feeling, which stopped almost immediately this time. Although he couldn't put his finger on why, he somehow felt his aura emptying. His protection was gone.

It couldn't end here. He hadn't grown up, gone to school, babysat his sisters for hours on end, trudged through school, lost his way, found his way, applied to Beacon, been accepted, and survived a terrorist attack just to die _here_ , alone and unaccomplished. If this was a movie, it would be the part where he picked his sword back up, remembering a secret tactic or hidden vulnerability of his opponent. He would fight to the end, vanquishing his sworn enemy with his final breath. Or it would be the part where the door suddenly was busted in to admit Ruby, accompanied by a squad of police, to turn the tide at the last possible second.

But no. This wasn't a movie, and this girl wasn't even his sworn enemy. Just a stupid, stupid, psycho who was going to kill him out of spite. Poke him in the guts and watch him bleed like a stuck pig, or saw through his neck like a fallen tree trunk. All he could do was give up, act like a fool, and hope that he seemed too pathetic to kill.

Jaune dropped to his knees. He couldn't decide whether it would be better to have his eyes open or closed, but he didn't dare close them. The blade didn't move, it appeared against his neck, metal teeth prickling the skin of his throat. He froze, sucking in a breath. He hadn't blinked; he was sure of that. Likewise, the girl hadn't moved. So wasn't blind or crazy, at least he didn't think he was. Something else was at play. An ability, a semblance like Ruby's tornado, maybe.

Whatever relief he felt from this realization was nothing compared to the horror of a grisly death. Yet the blade at his throat remained still. The lack of action gave Jaune the courage to meet the eyes above him once again. If they had been unfocused before, they certainly weren't now. Pouty Lips blinked, and with a feeling of unsettlement, he realized her eyes had switched colors. Her right eye was now pink and her left eye brown. What the hell was going on?

The standoff couldn't last. With agonizing slowness, the sword forced him farther and farther back until it was wall on one side and metal on the other. Then something slimy and soft ran down the bridge of his nose. Jaune realized what had happened and shivered. She had _licked_ him. Its meaning was perfectly clear. _I own you. I can do whatever the hell I want._ Unable to breathe, Jaune abandoned his composure and unleashed a silent tirade on the girl in front of him.

" _Why can't you listen?_ " he screamed internally, lips still, directing his thoughts at her smug features. " _You obviously can hear me, why won't you fucking talk? What kind of screwed up prick raised you, that you won't even speak to me before gutting me like a fish? Do you work for those sickos that attacked the bank? WHY DO I DIE NOT KNOWING?"_

Pouty Lips recoiled at his last words, although Jaune hadn't spoken them. It was like a mental switch had been flipped. The pressure and discomfort he felt immediately ceased. Even her unshakable smug grin, which had stayed on her face throughout, was replaced with an O of surprise.

* * *

Qrow put his hood back up as he ascended the narrow stairs to the second floor. Every step sent up a fresh cloud of dust and prompted a creak or a groan from the withered boards. The ceiling of the second floor was so low that he had to stoop slightly to avoid scraping his head. Stacks of crates, barrels, and a large covered vat took up most of the floor space. Stained wooden tables had been squeezed between and around them. Light came only from the staircase and a few dim lanterns, set above each table.

The people seated at the tables leaned over to speak in whispers to one another, rarely speaking aloud. Most of them wore hoods like Qrow's own. Many, he was sure, were undercover or rogue huntsmen, although there was little difference between the two. Taking a step towards the middle of the room, Qrow looked over those seated.

A little over a dozen people. Two roughneck men in the corner, playing cards with a young woman with a confident smile and a scar running down her cheek. None of them made any attempt to hide their appearance or had any reaction to him arriving, which meant they could be safely ignored.

Six figures in a collection of black and brown hooded cloaks seated close together around a table only meant for three. They seemed to pay him no attention, but Qrow could tell from the angles of their heads and the pause in their conversation that they were checking him out. Suspicious, and a potential threat, but not who he was looking for.

Qrow knew that if the person he sought was here, they'd be alone, and seeking as little attention as possible. That narrowed the field a bit. Crossing behind a stack of barrels, he found a few more tables. Most had a single occupant, who in several cases, was slumped over or rolling their head feebly on the table. He had reached the true drunkards, the lowest of the lot. Shut out away from the rest of the bar—hell, from the rest of the world, they were a pitiful sight to behold. Not that it wasn't hypocritical of him to judge, since he'd spent a solid two years of his life in places like this one.

This was the place to look, although the act of identifying people might prove to be the hard part. He couldn't exactly go yank the hood off every person or go around, tapping them on the shoulder and asking them. It was time to be a bit more inventive.

"I never thought I'd find a dragon here," Qrow said. His voice was loud enough for normal conversation, but in the silence of the back room he might as well have shouted. "I recall they preferred to roam free."

Some of the more able-bodied of the drinkers turned around to glower at him. One spat on the floor. Others just clutched their hands to their ears, blocking out the noise. But one man raised a hand in the air, keeping his head on the table. His curled fingers formed the "O.K." sign.

Qrow grabbed an empty chair and dragged it over, worn chair legs grating against the floor. He sank into the chair and propped both elbows up on the table.

"Really?" whispered Qrow, pulling his hood away from his face but leaving it on his head.

The voice that whispered back was lower and grittier than he had remembered it, but it was still familiar.

"Hello, Qrow," said Taiyang. His head didn't rise from its position on the table. "It's good to see you. I bet you feel right at home here."

"Shut it, Tai," Qrow snapped back without raising his voice. "You're not exactly in a position to be making jokes at my expense."

"I was just being friendly."

"By the way," Qrow said, looking around to see if they had drawn any attention, "I expected you to be more surprised."

Tai raised his head a little, careful to keep his face in the shadows. He shrugged. "I've got contacts, and they told me a while back that you were looking for me. I knew you'd find me eventually."

"You make it sound like you didn't want to be found."

"To put it plainly, I didn't. Sure, we're probably safe, but _probably_ isn't something I'm betting my life on. You took a big risk coming here yourself. What if the kids—"

"You're trying to change the subject by bringing up the kids," Qrow interrupted. "And yes, I'm sure you want to hear about them. Do you want to explain why you haven't come back yet?"

"They're still after me."

"They again? Honestly, Tai, I'd feel better about this whole mess if you just told me who's after you."

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because if I did, you would go after them. Don't deny it, you know you would. That would put you at risk, it would put me at risk, and most importantly it would put Ruby and Yang at risk. Face it, if you knew who was after me we wouldn't be talking right now. You'd be tracking them down."

Qrow resisted the urge to shake his former teammate by the shoulders. "You act like I'm the impulsive one," he said, rubbing his eyes. "It's funny, considering you're the one who fled your own home with nothing but the clothes on your back, leaving your kids alone and expecting me to watch them. You act like I'm not smart enough or patient enough to think of a subtler way to deal with the people who are out for you. I'm happy to cover your ass, Tai, I just need to know what to cover it from."

Tai nodded, letting the words sink in. "I owe you a debt," he said after a moment, nodding slowly. "I wish I could tell you what I'm dealing with, but I'm not selfish enough to risk my family for a shot at clearing the bounty on my head. But here's what I can tell you. It's not what we're dealing with that's the problem, it's our tools for dealing with it. Or lack thereof."

"And what's that?"

Tai pulled up the corner of his hood, allowing one sky-blue eye to stare up at Qrow. "You know the Great War," he said, voice taking on a strange reverence. "We all know how it started, how it progressed, and we're all told how it ended. But you and I both know what really happened."

Qrow groaned. "Don't bring up your crackpot council again."

"A crackpot council that saved tens of thousands of lives, and is responsible for Remnant being what it is today. That's just the facts. Well, the real facts."

"I have no doubts your beloved council existed, Tai. I've seen the family tree, and I believe you. But it doesn't exist now, and it doesn't need to. We're trying to prevent war, not end it. And what are the odds of finding twelve direct descendants, anyway? Or suitable replacements, if there aren't any."

"You're underestimating the capabilities of the council, Qrow. They're perfectly capable of preventing war as well as ending it. And a host of other things, most likely. Its full potential was never realized. Besides, I'm not asking you to find twelve people. Just have Ruby and Yang tested, and anyone else you find with potential."

" _Oh sure, just have Ruby and Yang tested_ ," mocked Qrow. " _and some other kids too._ You haven't even seen your kids in a year, Tai, what a great way to show them how much you care about them. I only got here in one day because I could pass over all the forests, all the Grimm. And you want me to drag them five times that far, exposed to all kinds of danger, along with some random kids I've never met. You're delusional."

"Fine, I guess I can't convince you," said Tai, throwing up his hands. "At least tell me how they're doing."

Qrow nodded. "Yang got into Beacon, like she wanted to. Easily, of course. Ruby went on a little vigilante crook-catching spree one day while she was in town, and ended up getting talked to by the police."

Tai sucked in a breath. "Is she okay?"

"More than okay. Someone over at Beacon heard about the incident, read how she had taken out over five criminals on her own. They saw her test scores at Signal and, well, they asked her to come early."

"Beacon? At fifteen? She'll be destroyed."

"She's come a long way in a year. I, uh, let the two of them go into the city today. They probably messed around for most of the day, but they should have made it to the bank at some point. Yang's old enough now that she can handle the paperwork herself. They're probably home by now."

"I sure hope so, Qrow. I sure hope so."

* * *

 **I tried to cut down on the number of narration jumps this chapter. Let me know if you noticed the difference, and which style you prefer. As usual, you can make my day by reviewing this chapter (or PMing me if you'd feel more comfortable). See you guys in two weeks.**

 **5/20: Minor updates today. Fixed a few bizarre typos, and I also moved a paragraph from the end forward to a later chapter. For those of you that read it already, consider it an "early bird bonus".**


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